


Marks of a Warrior

by Nonia



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dwarf Culture, Gen, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-17
Updated: 2013-01-17
Packaged: 2017-11-25 21:21:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/643088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nonia/pseuds/Nonia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mister Dwalin's history is written all over him in ink, for those who know how to read it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marks of a Warrior

**Author's Note:**

> In reponse to the Hobbit Kink-meme prompt: 
> 
> So Dwalin's tattoos. Tell me about them.
> 
> If you want to make my day tell me about how he got them.  
> If you really want to make my day tell me what they mean.  
> If you want to make my week somehow involve Thorin.  
> If you want to make my life have Dwalin tattoo Thorin.

Dwalin gazed into the fire after having carefully chosen the spot that would afford him the clearest view of where Thorin had slunk off to brood in. 

He was well aware of Bilbo Baggins’ stares, the Hobbit not yet accustomed to the Dwarves, them being in the beginning of their journey yet. His gaze flitting from one tattoo to the other, especially the ones one his hands now that he had taken the time to pull off his hand guards for a good clean. 

He ignored the Hobbit, subconsciously tracing the runes on his knuckles before tending to the hand guards, mind wandering back to darker times, to the first time he had had the ink stamped into his flesh in commitment. 

***

The first ones had been just after the battle of Azanulbizar. The thought entering his mind as he gathered his brother in his arms to mourn their dead, his gaze following Balin’s to seek the prince, his oldest friend, his King and Lord now. 

Thorin did not allow himself to mourn openly. He had gathered himself and his people and set to work. The days following had been long, the cleaning of the battle field hard. 

It was neigh a week later, when their sorrows had truly had time to settle into their hearts, and their wounds were starting to mend that Dwalin sought Thorin in his rooms. On the morrow, Thorin would step out in front of the people, and the leaders of the surviving clans would acknowledge their new King-in-Exile. 

They had not the chance to speak beyond a weary nod over the hunched shoulder of an injured Dwarf in need, or the festering body of an orc being carried to the great fire, or the body of a Dwarf for burial.

Knocking, he awaited permission to enter the royal chambers that had been assigned to Thorin II Oakenshield as the Dwarves had started to call him. He would usually barge into his friend’s chambers, but these were no ordinary circumstances, and he was not Dwalin visiting Thorin. He was a loyal subject, seeking audience with his King. He awaited the deep voice to call permission and stepped inside. Dwalin noted the surprise on Thorin’s face that it was him taking the time to knock. 

“Dwalin,” Thorin greeted wearily only to pause in surprise as Dwalin fell to one knee, hand over his heart, “What’s this?”

Dwalin raised his head to look Thorin in the eye before solemnly uttering the ancient Khuzdul lines of allegiance to a King. “I pledge my life, to the protection of the king, to the king’s family, to the end of time, to the Final Battle.”

Thorin took a deep breath, the ancient oath was never taken lightly, and it meant that the Dwarf committed to the King, to no other, placing King and King’s family above his well-being, never to have his own whilst they were his to protect. “Dwalin, you do not need to pledge yourself to me, old friend. I know your loyalty.”

Dwalin stubbornly shook his head and repeated the oath looking at Thorin expectantly. Thorin placed his shoulders heavily upon Dwalin’s before touching his forehead to his friend’s in gratitude and giving the answer, “The pledge is accepted. Your service ever shall be rewarded by the King.”

Giving a resolute nod Dwalin turned around and lifted a small pack. “A favour, I would ask of my friend and King.” 

Thorin inclined his head, “Of course, if it be in my power.”

Dwalin carefully revealed the knives, razors, and needles. “I plan on taking the ink marks upon my head. I would have my oldest friend shave this off and break first skin.” He lifted his gaze towards Thorin as he ran his hand across the Mohawk, unwilling to demean the request by not meeting Thorin’s eyes. 

He knew what he was asking. A Dwarf would never ask but the people nearest and dearest to them to break first skin upon committing on taking the ink marks, the rest of the marks were applied by specialised Dwarves, who mixed the ink while blessing it. To be asked, and to agree, was a sign that they would be loyal to each other in friendship and battle.

Ink marks themselves, were never taken lightly. 

Thorin instantly agreed, reverently taking the instruments from Dwalin before leading him to the bathing chamber. He worked quietly on removing the Mohawk, it had long been associated with Dwalin, and nothing pressed the reality of fact that their lives had been forever altered like the first tuft of hair he had cut. 

“What marks have you settled on?” Thorin asked, desperately trying to lift his mind from the blackness of his thoughts, carefully trying not to let the madness of losing his brother consume him again.

Dwalin gestured vaguely in a line from ear to ear, “Five gates, five kingdoms of Dwarves,” and he listed them reverently, for they were precious to the Dwarves and their sorrows. “The Grey Mountains. The Lonely Mountain. The Iron Hills. The Misty Mountains. The Blue Mountains.” 

Thorin nodded, a fine tribute to their history, sorrowful as it was. Dwalin continued, gesturing to the area just in front of where the line of gates would rest, “Seven seals, for the Seven Fathers. For they have given us life, and lessons, and we must never forget.”

Thorin paused, quietly agreeing, “Aye, never forget.” He put down the razors and picked up the ink and needles, preparing to break skin. “Where would you have me mark, my friend?” he asked.

Dwalin gestured to the area behind where the gates would rest, “Two shields with the seals of the seven fathers, for two of the line of Durin I protect. My King, Thorin II Oakenshield, and my Lady Dis.”

Thorin inhaled sharply, but did not dishonour his friend’s resolve by asking whether he was sure. He squeezed Dwalin’s shoulder and pierced the skin.

****

The next one came when they had taken work in the cities of men for the first time. Many warriors having to put weapons aside to become toy makers, tinkerers, and blacksmiths. 

He would take the work, he would follow his King, and he would survive. However, his spirit would never break. His war hammer might have been replaced by a smith’s hammer, but ever shall his very being be that of a warrior’s and so he had the warrior’s battle cry inscribed upon his fingers, so that no glove nor vambrace would ever hide them, “Baruk Khazâd Khazâd ai-mên!” 

This he asked Balin to break the skin for the mark, just before they went their separate ways. His brother was a warrior, and a wise man, and so Dwalin went to him and had him break the skin for this battle cry, vowing to himself to never allow himself to dull, no matter whether the Dwarves were nomads or people of a Kingdom. 

****

The others on his hands were acquired over the years. 

The empty outlines were times his life was saved from certain death, and thus owed to someone. 

Thorin owned more than half those circles. 

The filled in outlines for a dept that has been repaid and thus released from his soul. Dwalin was not one to leave a dept unpaid. 

****

One night, after they had finally settled into the Blue Mountains, Dwalin was summoned to Thorin’s chambers. 

Worrying at the time and summons, Dwalin hurried over to Thorin’s chambers, anxiety building with the knowledge that the day was a dark one in Thorin’s mind, as it was the mark of the day that Smaug the Terrible had attacked Erebor. 

He entered without knocking, as was his wont. Gaze flitting from side to side before settling on Thorin who was gazing out the window, Dwalin tried to gauge the situation and reason for summons only to notice the tools to ink a mark on the King’s table.

Raised an eyebrow, but unwilling to break the silence, Dwalin waited for Thorin to address him. When he finally did, Thorin’s voice was low and raw with pain, “I would have you break first skin, my friend.”

Drawing himself up to his full height Dwalin simply answered, “It would be my honour, old friend.” He headed to the tools and picked the needle up as Thorin went to sit by the hearth. 

Kneeling in front of his friend and king Dwalin asked, “Where would you have me break skin?”

Thorin unlaced his tunic and indicated the area above his heart, “A dragon, may it always burn a fire in my soul so that I may never forgive.”

Dwalin nodded solemnly, echoing, “Never forgive.”  
After leaning up to gently place his forehead against Thorin’s, he took up the needle again and broke first skin. 

****

It was when Kili and Fili had taken up their first training weapons that Dwalin approached Thorin’s chambers. This time, like those many years before, instead of simply barging in, he knocked and awaited permission to enter. 

Thorin’s deep voice bid him entry and he was again met by surprise at asking permission to enter. “Dwalin?” Thorin asked in confusion, no doubt his mind also remember when Dwalin last made the same entrance. 

There was no greater commitment Dwalin could make to Thorin than the one he had already made, and no greater sacrifice Thorin would ask the Dwarf as he lived to make.

Dwalin held up the inking tools, repeating his words from long ago, “I would have my oldest friend break first skin.”

Thorin inclined his head, “What oath does my oldest friend take now?” he asked as he took the tools from Dwalin. 

Dwalin pointed to the two areas on either side of the shields representing Thorin and Dis, “Two shields with the seals of the seven fathers, for the youngest two of the line of Durin I protect.”

Thorin gazed at his friend, eyes grateful, “I am much relieved, that they would be under your protection, as I have been.”

Dwalin simply inclined his head and settled on a seat awaiting Thorin. His friend squeezed his shoulder as he said, “I would have them witness this. I would have them witness the pledge of one of the greatest warriors of the Dwarves to them, so that they may appreciate your service, you sacrifice.”

Dwalin muttered, “It is no sacrifice,” but acquiesced that the boys be brought in to witness the breaking of the skin. 

Needless to say, if young Kili had admired Dwalin before, he had been completely smitten with Mister Dwalin from what day forward. 

***

It was as the rumours that Smaug had been asleep for too long, and the Dwarves started looking for the signs that Dwalin had his latest marks. 

Two hammers on each of his hands, so that the strength of Mahal may always be with him and his strikes always be true. 

He took permission from Thorin to have Kili and Fili break the skin. Each breaking the skin on one hand. He would forever hold their looks of pride at being asked in his heart.

When the deed was done, his hands still red raw and shaking, Dwalin joined Thorin in his chambers for an ale. Thorin asked to see the marks and Dwalin held out his fists, side by side, for Thorin’s inspection. 

Dwalin explained, “For the coming battle to reclaim Erebor.” His voice lowering as he echoed words that had been often said, “Never forgive, never forget.”

Thorin nodded slowly, touching his own fists to Dwalin’s and his forehead to the taller Dwarf’s, “For Erebor.”

*****

Dwalin shook himself out of his memories and stalked over to Thorin intent on dragging him closer to the fire. He could vaguely hear Bilbo asking Gandalf, “Is tattooing a common practice amongst Dwarves, Gandalf?”

Gandalf answered, “Depends on the Dwarf, now, wouldn’t it?”

Bilbo shook his head exasperatedly, “But I don’t see any of the others looking like that.” He said emphasising the last word with a gesture of his pipe rowards Dwalin.

Gandalf took a considering puff or two from his pipe before settling on an answer, “A Dwarf’s story is his own to decide on whether he wills it to be on display or not, Bilbo Baggins. Besides, you haven’t seen any of them bald or without vambraces, have you? How do you know there isn’t a mass of tattooed heads surrounding you as we speak?”

Dwalin smirked at the scandalized squawk followed by boisterous laughter from the rest of the company before landing a heavy hand on Thorin’s shoulder, “Thorin, come closer to the fire, old friend. It is not a night to be cold on.”

**Author's Note:**

> The runes on Dwalin's fingers supposedly translate into an ancient Dwarf battle cry: 
> 
> "The axes of the dwarves! The dwarves are upon you!"


End file.
